


Performer

by editorbit



Series: Jerome & Jeremiah Character Studies(?) [13]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A little, Character Study, Gen, Haly's Circus, One Shot, Soft Jerome Valeska, once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21790870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editorbit/pseuds/editorbit
Summary: Jeremiah can still remember all the shows Jerome put on when they were younger.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Series: Jerome & Jeremiah Character Studies(?) [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514969
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Performer

Jerome is a show-man. A thrill seeker. A show-off. Always has been. 

Jeremiah can still remember all the shows Jerome put on when they were younger. They weren’t allowed to join the big shows the circus put on, shows with trapeze artists, clowns, animals and so on and so forth. They were fantastic shows. Jeremiah had seen some of them, sneaking a glance into the tent to watch them all practice the evening prior or even as they performed on the night of the show. The reasons they couldn’t join were obvious. First of all, they were just kids. If they did require anything for some reason - though the job had never been anything major nor anything happening on stage - they picked Jeremiah. He can still feel Jerome’s eyes - filled with jealousy and disappointment - on him as Jeremiah leaves him behind. They’re a package deal, he can hear Jerome saying to him before they’d come get him. Second of all, would it be such a good idea to include Jerome in something like this? Sure, the kid did his regular jobs well, but they didn’t include several hundreds at most people - paying guests - watching, did they? These shows were their entire careers. On top of it all, Jerome had had his incidents with guests before. 

Jeremiah can remember every single show Jerome put on. Every evening spent outside somewhere where no one would find them unless they looked. They never looked for them. No one cared enough to worry about where they were, let alone enough to go check on them. Every evening turned into night turned into borderline morning. Several times they’d walked back to the trailer in the dark, trusting in memory only to guide them back. Every rainy evening too cold to go outside, yet that never stopped them - stopped him. Jeremiah can still feel the cold rain hit the exposed skin of his face and hands where he stood, watching Jerome perform. Every night spent in their small bedroom, Jeremiah sitting in his bed while Jerome stood on his own, performing. Quietly he spoke, voice barely above a whisper and Jeremiah listened. Jeremiah watched every show. He enjoyed them. They were entertaining, perhaps even more so than the ones of Haly’s Circus. They were special. They were for him alone.

Jerome was a natural performer. He had the energy, the enthusiasm, the spark of pure joy in his eyes when he performed. All he had lacked was the audience and the stage. Still, Jerome wasn’t discouraged. An imagination wasn’t something Jerome lacked. Anything and everything could be used, if one just had the imagination. The nature around them, whatever he could find in the trailer, anything he could snatch from the other performers when they weren’t looking. Jeremiah can remember Jerome climbing trees like a monkey, balancing on the branches with his hands free while humming to himself and Jeremiah standing far down below. He can remember the elaborate stories he told, voice loud and enthusiastic as no one were around to hear. Sometimes, Jeremiah joined him. To assist, Jerome had told him. He’d point at him with the stick in his hand, voice dramatic as he pointed him out of the crowd, referring to him as the lucky volunteer. They performed together in front of an imaginary crowd. Performing wasn’t something Jeremiah would ever be interested in doing he figured, although he never refused. 

Jeremiah looked for things to use sometimes too. Approaching his brother with the items in hand, he’d been met with a smile, a glint in his eyes and the excited voice uttering all the ideas he had for his shows. Some apples stolen from the trailer he later that evening watched Jerome juggle with ease. Paint taken from outside one of the other trailers Jerome had later used to draw animals on the trees with. Performance makeup stolen from the performers’ tent Jeremiah helped apply to Jerome’s skin, his face, neck, sometimes arms as well if the weather wasn’t too cold and he had to wear a jacket. Jerome’s skin had been pale and filled with freckles, just like his own. Every so often there would be bruises, blue, green or yellow in colour. Jeremiah covered them in the white face paint and Jerome’s skin was spot free as he performed. Though, the bruises built up over time. Some peeked through the thick layer he lathered on. One on his cheek, one on his shoulder, one on his knee. Jeremiah touched them with gentle fingers, no words uttered. 

The shows changed. They had used to been so innocent, full of energy and Jeremiah had sometimes found himself laughing at Jerome’s antics. Jerome’s shows were clever and Jeremiah looked forward to them every night. Though, something changed. He can’t remember exactly when this change occurred. It’s been so long and a lot of the memories from that time in his life are some he’s tried to erase. They’re nothing but faint memories now, lingering within Jeremiah’s mind, perhaps Jerome’s as well wherever he is.  
Targets were painted on the trees on top of the fading animals. Knives found in the kitchen of the trailer were thrown at them. Eerie stories were told, tone odd and unfamiliar. The spark within Jerome’s eyes was gone. Jerome’s eyes were stars that had gone out, never to be lit up again. Jeremiah dreaded being asked to assist him. 

Jerome had brought a gun once. Where he had gotten the thing from, Jeremiah doesn’t know. He hadn’t asked. His mind had been a mess, thoughts flying through too quick and too many to process what they said, the sound of blood rushing through the veins in his ears and the visual of Jerome pointing it right at him. You’re the lucky volunteer, he’d said, gesturing for him to get up. A moment later he’d stood with his back to a tree with a target painted right above his head. The paint had dripped into his hair, staining it white. He’d shut his eyes tight, waiting for the bang that never came. The gun had been missing its bullets. 

Jerome wasn’t the same Jerome anymore, and he still isn’t. He isn’t the performer he loved and admired back then anymore, though he’s still a performer. Jerome is a proper performer now and has finally achieved his audience and stage, perhaps for the worse.


End file.
